


like a ship lost at sea, you are my safe harbor

by wyrmbloods



Series: warriors who bleed azure. [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29329473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmbloods/pseuds/wyrmbloods
Summary: in battle, the warrior of light is infallible.but outside of it, he is just a man with a burden too great for one man to bear without proper company.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel & Warrior of Light, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone & Warrior of Light
Series: warriors who bleed azure. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154294
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	like a ship lost at sea, you are my safe harbor

With all of the events following the tragedy at the vault, the Warrior of Light has not had a moment’s respite, and it’s beginning to take its toll on him. 

He does his best, Haurchefant’s last words echoing in his head, making sure that to keep up the strong act for his fellow scions; Artorius had the misfortune of witnessing Alphinaud’s despair after the events of their dinner in Ul’dah, so he is not wont to add to any more burdens. 

But with….with Estinien all but lost to him now, he hasn’t the energy. No hero would have just stood there, unable to help his fellow Azure Dragoon. 

Thus he shouldn’t bother smiling.

(Haurchefant dying right in his arms due to his own incompetence, is also unequivocally un-heroic.) 

He shouldn’t be brooding upon the subject whilst standing in the Lord Commander’s office, while he and Alphinaud discuss strategy about....something. He hasn’t bothered to pay attention today, merely grunting or nodding in agreement when directly spoken to. If they have need of him, they will point him in the direction of where he need go and choose an enemy that needs to fall upon his lance. The simplicity is both welcome and unwelcome...

There’s a couple beats of silence that fills the chamber, and Artorius is ripped out of his thoughts as he feels Aymeric, Lucia and Alphinaud all staring at him.  _ Must have been silent for too long, ah well.  _

“Artorius?” The boy looks up at him, concerned. 

“My...my apologies. I let my thoughts wander too far from the discussion.” The elezen gives a faint, practiced smile. “What were we speaking about, again?”

“Rescheduling the conference with Vidofnir, but I think we’re all set for the new date, Ser Aymeric’s wounds withstanding.” Aymeric shakes his head, once more noting that it’s all but healed now. “Shall we retire back to Fortemps Manor? You look like you are in need of some rest, my friend…” Alphinaud looks the older man directly in the eyes, where he can see the evidence clear as day beneath his overgrown bangs. 

“As you wish.” Not like sleep shall come easy to him, anyway, but the lad will obviously feel better should he feign resting in his quarters. They both nod at each other, and get ready to bid the Lord Commander a good night. 

“Thank you again, Ser Aymeric. We shall head off to Falcon’s Nest as soon as preparations are complete.” The young man gives a bow, before striding out of the office, Artorius turning to follow suit. 

“Warrior of Light.” It takes everything in him to not groan when Aymeric speaks up. “May I have a word with you, alone?” He turns, to see the Lord Commander give a knowing nod to Lucia, who promptly bows and leaves the room. 

The pair wait in relative silence, before Aymeric finally speaks up again.

“Are you well, my friend?” The concern is plain in both his words and his expression, but something about it just twists Artorius’ stomach the wrong way. Like he should already know the answer, rather than asking useless questions.“ ‘Tis most unlike you to be so distant.”

“I am fine.” His words come off curt, and just a little angrier than intended. “Once this is over I think we all will be all the better.” He forces himself to smile, just a little bit. It does nothing to comfort the other man, whose expression grows more tired. 

“Will you not confide in me?” Aymeric sounds sad,  _ heartbroken _ even. 

“There is nothing to confide, truly. I think you have more important concerns that require your most immediate attention, Lord Commander. Know to call upon me should you need to speak with the Dravanians, or something that needs to be put to the lance.”  _ What else am I good for, anyway?  _ A sigh passes from the Lord Commander’s lips as he sits back in his chair and nets his fingers together across his lap in thought. Artorius feels some sort of lecture coming, and he is reminded of a childhood long since forgotten....which furthers his horrid mood. 

“I merely worry for you. You have done so much for us all…” Aymeric’s brow furrows, before he looks at the other man, blue eyes piercing right through him. “But I fear I have put more than a armful of undue burdens on you as of late, my fri--”

“ _Enough._ ” Artorius raises his voice and it’s enough to make Aymeric sit at attention. “Your concern--it’s appreciated. **_Unnecessary_** , but appreciated. But enough apologies. We are allies, not friends, as you so eloquently put when we first met despite your constant declarations otherwise. Use me as the weapon Ishgard and the whole of Eorzea sees fit.” He’s annoyed, he might as well air out of all his grievances while still holding the other man’s undivided attention. “I also have a _name._ Not the Warrior of Light. Not your _friend._ When you have need of me, I am at your beck and call. Emphasis on _need_ , not _want_. Have a pleasant night, _Lord Commander._ ” Artorius bows a little too deeply to be anywhere near respectful, before promptly storming out of the Lord Commander’s office. 

“Wait, a mo--” Aymeric tries to push himself up a little too fast from his seat, feels the wound in his gut pull and the telltale pain of one of his stitches popping. He sits back down, feeling defeated and a little bloody around his middle. “Seems I only made things worse…” It doesn’t feel like anything he could have said could have comforted the older man, but he definitely could have made more of an effort to not outright  _ antagonize  _ the already emotionally fragile man. 

He’ll have plenty of time to figure out a proper apology to Artorius, whilst getting his stitches replaced, it would seem…

* * *

“How did you  _ lose  _ him? He’s the shortest elezen around and instantly recognized by anyone with half a mind in this frigid city!” Thancred isn’t mad at Alphinaud, he’s just surprised. The two elezen are generally connected at the hip, so the older man’s disappearance is more than enough cause for concern. 

At least they can speak freely here, in The Forgotten Knight. Heavens forfend what would happen if the city proper knew their savior was missing. 

“In my own defense, he did jump to the rooftops as he was passing through the threshold of the Congregation. Unfortunately my carbuncles don’t have wings!” The younger man groans. “He’s never just disappeared like that before! You sure you couldn’t find him?”

“Aye, I think he’s sneakier than Lady Yugiri. Terrifying for our enemies, annoying for us.” He laughs, ruffling Alphinaud’s hair. “Any reason he would have done that, you reckon?”

“I’ve not a clue. The last person he spoke with was Ser Aymeric, and Artorius is generally in good spirits when speaking with him…” He thinks, scratching his temple. “But...He has been...distracted as of late.”

“I would be hard pressed to keep my head straight on my shoulders with all he alone has had to contend with.” Thancred crosses his arms, sighing. “Naught a break since the incident at the Vault, no? Has he mentioned anything strange?” The younger man shakes his head. 

“I will be honest, it was only recently he had started talking to me more, circumstances being what they were. I barely know anything about the man, if I’m being honest....” 

“And I know even less...is there no one who would be able to talk some sense back into him? The conference is in but a couple of days…”  _ And something is bound to go wrong,  _ is what the Hyuran man wants to say, but Alphinaud has enough weight on his lithe shoulders. 

“I…” The scholar puts his head in his hands, trying to think. “...No, none that are still with us. Estinien is lost to us by way of Nidhogg’s fury and Haurchefant is...is...gone.” The silver tongued twin fumbles over his words, thinking of the two men and growing emotional. “Estinien probably would have grabbed him before he lifted off the ground and gone--” He puffs up his chest and makes his voice lower. “-- _ Stop being so sentimental, you’re the Azure Dragoon Artorius, and pull yourself together lest I smack you together m’self!”  _ Thancred snorts at the wrong moment and feels ale make its way out of his nose. 

“I  _ pray  _ to the twelve that this Ser Estinien doesn’t sound, nor speak, like what you just made me witness.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” 

“Right. Back on topic, however…”

“I’m sure he will be...fine. He’s the oldest out of all of the past and current scions. He and Haurchefant were...uh...close.” He has a few ideas about how close, having once caught the two men sharing a rather passionate kiss on the Lord of Dragonhead’s desk one night. 

“Bosom buddies, one might even say!” Tataru trots over, smiling at the two men before her expression grows somber. “I can’t imagine a handful of months has done much to lessen the blow of Ser Greystone’s death for Artorius. And with whatever has happened to Ser Estinien, likely did not do much to help.”

“What are we to do, then?”

“Wait and hope he approaches us, or….”

“Or…?”

“Better keep an eye on the rooftops for dragoons.” The two men groan. 

“Yes, of course, in the city  _ full of them.  _ An easy task.”

* * *

Two days have passed, and naught a sign of Artorius. 

The guilt is eating Aymeric alive, on top of whatever other anxieties have decided to feed on his already fraying nerves. He has to do something, seeing as whatever caused the man to be on the precipice of snapping was worsened by his shite attempt at comfort. He makes a strange request to Alphinaud, of which the lad is thankfully happy to oblige. 

It helps that Count Fortemp is already a good friend of Aymeric, as well.

“I brought the armor you requested but…” The young man eyes Aymeric strangely. “Do you think it wise to be skulking about the city after being recently attacked?”

“Hence the disguise.” It takes but a few moments for the Lord Commander to rejoin Alphinaud, dressed in House Fortemps chain mail, bow at his back. “Even under better circumstances I cannot freely walk about the city. Would be wiser to hide myself as a simple knight, inquiring about the Warrior of Light, for I have an important missive. Also the chain mail will protect me better from errant kitchen knives better than my usual attire.” Aymeric slides the chain coif over his head and is  _ immediately  _ reminded how much he hated the feeling of the rings grinding on his ears.

“Yes, but the people know what you look like, Ser Aymeric.” Alphinaud seems unconvinced. “I doubt you would get far without recognition.”

“Do you doubt me so? I sincerely think most of the common folk would not recognize me out of my usual attire, much less up close and if I make the smallest efforts to conceal myself.” He sounds confident, but even he is aware he may have to make a couple runs across the city lest the jig be up. “If Artorius saw me coming, I fear he may run...or….”

“He is not so childish... _ usually _ .”

“Well, he did make a habit of hanging around Estinien. I hope you have not picked up anything on his laundry list of terrible habits.” Alphinaud winces at the mention of the other missing dragoon. “I fear the man’s bad habits of brooding and hiding atop the spires of the city mayhap rubbed off on him. Hopefully he will not be so quick to anger this time...and I pray my reflexes are still up to par, should he jump down at me.”

“Perhaps you should have a shield at the ready, then. He is also the Azure Dragoon, lest you forget.”

“Truly, Master Levellieur, you inspire such confidence.”

_ Ishgard is a beautiful city, especially this high up and at night _ , Artorius muses to himself. He recalls how much he hated the cold, the snow and the chill that pervaded his very being upon stepping into Coerthas for the first time. Now it’s a comfort. 

A strange one, at that. 

The wind blows the hood of his cloak off, and he sighs. 

“I can’t full well stay up here forever, nice as the view is…” He needs to go apologize, most of all to Aymeric. The man has done nothing to earn the Warrior of Light’s ire, no matter how raw his emotional state was at the time. Still is, no less. 

Not everyone is going to be the friend and companion Haurchefant was. Not that he bothered opening up much to the man either, lest you count how  _ physically  _ close they got.  _ What a mess _ , is his last thought, before collecting his lance. He has not slept since coming up here, only snacking on whatever meal lay at the bottom of his traveling bag; perhaps everyone would allow him a nap, prior to the inevitable lecture…?

Just as he is about to jump down the spires of the Vault, he hears footsteps, and the lone entrance swings open, and a knight dressed in House Fortemps colors walks through the door...a bit out of breath. Panic runs through his mind, already imagining a hundred scenarios, each more gruesome and heartbreaking than the last. 

_ Damn my selfishness.  _

“T...th…” The knight is catching his breath, and he pulls off his coif to reveal short, well kept hair. “...There...there you are…I should have your...lance for….how many stairs I just needed to climb…” They meet eyes. It’s a very tired looking Aymeric, to his surprise. 

“A-aymeric? What in the--has something happened? Are the others alright?” Artorius’ face contorts into worry, rushing to the other man’s side. “Why are you dressed like this?”

“Everyone but you would seem to be doing just fine, sans their worry about your absence.” Aymeric stands up straight, forcing himself to carry a modicum of the dignity he regularly has. “So I thought it best I look for you myself, seeing as I am the person most familiar with hiding places for Azure Dragoons in a bad mood...and the one who worsened yours.” 

“I…” Artorius closes his eyes. “Aymeric you will have to fo--” The Lord Commander raises a hand, signaling for him to be quiet. He should have expected his tantrum to not so easily slide by with an apology and a nice meal. He awaits his admonishment, patiently.

“You have nothing to apologize to me for, worry not. I cannot speak for your fellow scions, however.” He smiles back at the older elezen, before sitting down on the stone and patting the spot next to him. “Come, I wish to talk. Also, I need to rest my legs.” Artorius sits, confusion written all over his face.

“You...are not cross with me?”

“Were you expecting me to scold you like a child for being upset? Perish the thought. You are my senior, in many ways.”

“But I was out of line--”

“And last time I checked, you served Ishgard at your own leisure, not as an officer. Something I have taken for granted in all of my requests…” Aymeric looks away, at his feet. “I have called you friend with zero hesitation, but I have never extended the courtesy of knowing the man whom I call upon without hesitation...I would like to rectify that, if you would allow me.” 

“You want...to get to know me?” This is definitely the strangest turn the situation could have taken, but it is not unwelcome. “There’s no need.” He does not hesitate to be on guard, though. Ishgardian kindness is not always freely given as was the case with...

“I believe there is, from how upset you were the other night.” He turns to look at Artorius. “You are Artorius Thunderheart before you are the Warrior of Light, Eikon-slayer, the Azure Dragoon, and whatever other titles the lands of Eorzea have deigned to give you. I simply would like to know him as well as I have known the legend that follows him.”

_ How am I supposed to respond to that?  _ There’s a few minutes of silence, Artorius unable to muster the words to even begin to speak of himself. He sits on the ground, a comfortable, but amicable distance between himself and the younger man. The last person he spoke at length about his personal life, much less his feelings….was Minfillia. Bah.

“Would you prefer I start you off, lest we freeze to death up here?”

“Ha. One would think you better adjusted than I, but sure. Ask away.”

“I don’t spend my days running about without enough layers to weather the cold.” Aymeric shudders, and moves ever so slightly closer to the other man, their shoulders touching. “You are grieving still, are you not?”

“To the point, as always, Lord Commander.”

“I thought I made a point of shedding titles whilst we spoke.”

“Aye,  _ Aymeric. _ ” The redhead smirks at the other man as he says his name. “Yes. How...how could I not.” He grows quiet, and he looks away from his companion. “He...he  _ died for me.  _ With a smile, and everyone expects me to think it so  _ proud _ and  _ noble _ . I would have happily taken whatever injury if it meant he was still here. How does one...how does one go on living, knowing death is what bought it?” He tightens his hands into fists, the leather squeaking from the strain. He will not cry, not now, not in front of Aymeric. “If I hear ‘ _ A knight lives to serve _ ’ from one more person trying to comfort me about his memory, I may go ballistic.”

“Understandably.” What more can he say, to that? He himself was so worn from the torture and interrogation the Heavens Ward inflicted upon him that he could only idly stand by and watch it happen. Would that he could have switched places with Ser Greystone….and saved Artorius such pains. “...do you resent me, Artorius?”

“What? Strange thing to ask.”

“Had I not thought it so bull headed and noble to go talk some sense into my father...perhaps…” It’s a selfish question to ask of the man. But the thought has wormed its way into his thoughts prior to this conversation. “I would not fault you if you did.”

“Aymeric…” Artorius furrows his brow, concerned. “You are the last person at fault for what happened. Last I checked, I already brought the perpetrators to justice.” He manages a small smile, reassuring and genuine. “You speak as if you gave the order.” 

“Aye, I know. Everyone reminds me that I am not responsible for the sins of my father...but it is difficult to not feel as though it is still the case.” He sighs, thinking of his final conversation with his late father. It seems he has his answer now, about whether he would bear the weight of his sins. “You also did not deserve to lose someone who loved you so fiercely.”

“I-I... _ oh…. _ ” The Warrior of Light has to look away as red spreads across his cheeks and up his pointed ears, but not from the cold. “It wasn’t--I was...We were not…” Aymeric cocks his head to the side, confused.

“My apologies. I had assumed the two of you betrothed, from how joyful Count Fortemps spoke of you and...well you know how Haurchefant spoke of you.”

“B-betrothed?” The dragoon practically jumps to attention at that. “I have been married off thrice before, but goodness--”

“Thrice?!” He does not mean to come off so surprised, but  _ goodness.  _

“We will get to that!” He sits back down, pulling the neck of his cloak a bit tighter to hide his embarrassment. “Haurchefant and I...I don’t know what it was. I never bothered to ask for or put words to it. He was there for me and did not ask for anything in return. I did not think our time together so short that I….I thought it would come with time. He is not the first partner I have lost. Nor do I think he will be the last man I care about to leave me.” Aymeric extends a hand, hovering above Artorius’ shoulder, asking permission. The man nods. The younger man’s touch is comforting, simple as it is. 

“You speak of Estinien as if he were already being chewed up by the horde.” His hand grips the old man’s shoulder, a reassuring pressure. “He’s too stubborn to die, at least without making a mess for the rest of us first.”

“I don’t think I like how easily you read me, Aymeric.” A chuckle. “If he continues to make things so difficult, I may throttle him myself upon his return.”

“Mayhap you should make yourself less of an open book, at times.”

“ _ Mayhap,  _ you should be less nosy.” A chuckle. “I was deeply concerned, you know, these things come in threes.”

“Hm?”

“Last I recall I did get a frantic call back from Falcon’s Nest about some fool being stabbed with a kitchen knife and bleeding out on the streets.” Artorius says it so nonchalantly that it nearly goes over Aymeric’s head. It hits the Lord Commander and he instantly flushes red. 

“I do wish everyone would let that go, already.” He speaks, of course, as if he didn’t just set himself another fortnight of healing. “I am a warrior and man grown, not a child with a scraped knee.” 

“It happened barely a week ago and Lucia tells me you’ve ripped your stitches at least four times, getting a little too excited.” Aymeric makes an upset groan as he feels his stomach pull. 

“This isn’t about me,  _ nor _ my propensity for infuriating the chirugeons. Weren’t we going to discuss your marriages?” 

“Oh, such a deft deflection, Ser Borel.” Perhaps it is the insinuation from earlier, but something feels very different in how Artorius says his name. He’ll elect to ignore it for now. “Not that there is much to speak of, for the first two. The first man was not interested in a mute lass, but ended up disappearing with all of his gil and his life at the hands of the Syndicate. The second...well, he was nice. He paid my bridal price, and let me know I was never expected to do anything other than keep up appearances as his happy little foreign wife. Shame he was executed for heresy. Arranged marriages are…” 

“Unpleasant, indeed.” Aymeric thinks of how many suitors his late guardians tried to find him prior to their passing. He shudders. 

“I lived on the fringes of Gridania growing up, and left after the second on a boat to the Far East. Very easy to be a stowaway when you’re a skinny, sixteen summer lass.” He smiles, a little fondly. Aymeric hesitates, before speaking.

“I hope not that this sounds rude, but...were you not always, Artorius?” How else is he to word such an invasive question? It is only then that the older man realizes how he referred to his younger self.

“Ah.” Artorius deliberates, deciding that maybe someone other than a dead man should know. “...It was not until the calamity, that I finally discovered myself. Glad to see I come off very convincing, after years of trying.”

“You are you, regardless of what people think when they see you.” A smile, one that makes the Warrior of Light’s heart beat a little faster than normal. “I shall speak of this to no one, know that. Please, continue.” He nods. 

“My future wife found me napping away in her delivery of bulbs for her nursery and promptly beat me with a broom.” That gets a chuckle out of Aymeric, and the man can’t help but smile a little himself. 

“Very romantic.” 

“Mm.” He frowns. “We married the next summer, so she could live in peace without being pestered by men…” He sighs. “The concept of marrying for love, rather than convenience is very….foreign to me.”

“Have you...never…?” 

“Loved someone? I don’t know. Twelve know I barely get time to rest between every fight, much less do the sort of introspection necessary for that. There are a small number that I could...consider.” Artorius suddenly feels very shy.

“Ah.” The air is suddenly even colder above the city. “A number, you say?”

“Mhm.”  _ It feels strange, admitting such a thing.  _ “Haurchefant used to make jokes, saying we should elope in the intercession at Dragonhead. They no longer...seem like such an idea to laugh at.” It hurts just a little less, to speak of him. “But I am sure you have plenty of suitors nipping at your heels.”

“Let us not…” Aymeric suddenly feels a headache coming on. “What happened to her, your wife?”

“We lived for a while, in Doma. A nice little home. She was pleasant and kind, more a friend than a life partner.” Aymeric is listening, resting his head on his knees as he brings them to his chest. “She insisted on children. Keeper knows how we managed to make that happen...” There’s a question that bubbles on the tip of his tongue, but he already knows the answer, he fears. “They were just born, when the empire came. Thankfully, we were able to secure passage back to Eorzea...and lived happily ever after, of course.”

“Until?” 

“Until the damned calamity, of course.” Artorius looks tired, just thinking of it. “I don’t have any grand tales of that time, unfortunately. We were all separated, and I...I haven’t found a trace of them.”

“Oh, Artorius…” He regrets prying further. “I would have never guessed…”

“ ‘Tis fine. Those wounds have long healed.” A smile. “I have long since come to terms that they are gone, yet I am still here. It must have meant something…And as I am a new man now, perhaps it is for the best. I would not know how to approach them, would that I could encounter them again.” He closes his eyes, before letting out a big sigh he wasn’t even aware of holding in. “And the rest you know, seeing as you have followed my previous deeds with such  _ fascination,  _ prior to our first meeting.”

“My words betray me once again.”

“Your honesty is welcome. I much prefer the Aymeric I know now to the Lord Commander I met prior. Such a good listener, this Aymeric is.” 

“I am glad I can make up for the Lord Commander’s detriments.” It feels so nice, speaking as if they were two different people. How he wishes he could easily separate who he is and who he has to be under better circumstances. “I, however, am of the opinion that the Warrior of Light and Artorius are both very noble men whom I am thankful to spend my time with.”

“Oh, I.” Artorius coughs, taken aback by the sincerity in the other man’s tone and the look in his eyes. Guilt returns in full force once more. “I am still sorry for my outburst.”

“You are allowed to be upset, Artorius. Blessed you may be, you are still just a man. I think we all forget that all too easily.” 

“Perhaps, but I think we should continue this conversation somewhere warmer.” He stands, stretching his back and feeling the vertebrae pop back into place, before helping Aymeric up. The Lord Commander seems so much smaller without his more ceremonial armor. Width-wise, anyway. “Let’s get down from here, and to the Forgotten Knight.”

“It’s going to take a while, unfortunately.” 

“Hm? Naught more than a couple of minutes, even with the extra weight.” There’s a beat of silence, and Aymeric takes up a defensive posture. “You haven’t that much armor on, I can easily carry you and jump.”

“ **_Absolutely not._ ** ” The knight goes a bit pale. “I have experienced traveling about on dragoon-back and I would not like a reminder.” His stomach turns thinking about it.

“You were complaining about the stairs, earlier.” Artorius smiles. “Would be faster. I’ll carry you on my back, not toss you over my shoulder like the man who gave you such a fright.”

“I do not--”

“I thought you wanted to make me feel better for making me feel  _ so upset the other day _ .” The dragoon squats down a bit, so the man can climb on his back, a smug look on his face unseen. He hears a defeated sigh, and the weight on his back shifts. T’would seem that Artorius knows exactly when and where to hit him where it hurts. 

“Not a word of this,  _ to anyone. _ ”

“Dragoon’s honor, I swear.” Artorius doesn’t give Aymeric a moment to complain further, before beginning his series of jumps about the city. 

Some citizens later complain about some loud creature screaming about the city, fearing Dravanian attack. 

* * *

It takes a couple of minutes to get Aymeric steady enough on his feet from the trip to make his way into the lower level of the Forgotten Knight, but it is blissfully empty. Gillibront, as always, does not question the company Artorius keeps while within his walls. He hands him some extra gil so that he and Aymeric may enjoy their drinks far from any prying eyes, realizing something a little too late as he is alone with Aymeric, two drinks in his hands. 

“I didn’t even ask if you drank.”

“Mm, I have a reputation for being a little boring, don’t it?” Aymeric smiles, taking one of the flagons out of the other man’s hands. Artorius forgets that he’s a good head and a half shorter and he is now  _ very much  _ reminded with how close they stand to each other. “I’ve long since abstained since my days as a temple knight, but…”

“What,  _ Aymeric  _ doesn’t mind a stiff one?” That makes the other man choke on his own saliva. 

“A stiff  _ drink,  _ you mean?” 

“Aye, same difference.” The redhead shrugs. “You’re truly leaning into this little name thing on account of me, are you not?” They both sit, a comfortable and small distance between them. 

“I see no reason not to. Titles, epithets...they matter so much in Ishgard, compared to a name. I often can go weeks without hearing my own name, when things are dire.” Aymeric takes a sip, and is pleasantly reminded of how things never change.  _ Still tastes like shite,  _ he muses. “ ‘Tis an unfortunate habit I would be happy to break, especially if it causes you less pain.” Old habits from the temple knights return, and Aymeric drains the flagon without stopping for breath. 

“Mm.” Artorius recedes back into himself, starting down in his mug. His mind wanders to Ul’dah, to a celebratory drink, to Nanamo gasping for air--and his hands shake, threatening to drop it. He should have chosen to just talk, nothing more. The mug finds itself on the table, and Aymeric eyes him, concerned. “Sorry, I must be better.” They both know the events of that night, even if Aymeric was spirited away from witnessing it firsthand. He forces himself to drink, praying his anxieties about poisons are incorrect. 

“No one is expecting you to be untouched by the events you have suffered through.”

“Maybe. But I have to be better...for all my complaints of being known as the Warrior of Light, it is still my burden to bear and I…” Brows furrow, and a familiar ache begins to build behind his eyes.  _ I will not, I refuse to…  _ “I need to carry myself as such. I  _ must  _ be better. For everyone’s sake.  _ For those we have lost, and those we can yet save. _ ”

“And what of you, Artorius? Who is to save you from yourself?” Aymeric reaches out, to cradle the older man’s still shuddering hands in his own; the touch is so painfully tender that the Warrior of Light’s voice hitches in his throat. “It would seem that you are upset and hurt about far more than just recent events and long gone family. If you tire of speaking, that is fine. I’ve chewed your ear long enough today, but…” 

“You have seen enough weakness from me today, Aymeric.”

“I see no weakness in you, only wounds that you have not let close.” He doesn’t need to look at the man to know the gentle, reassuring expression that is on Aymeric’s face. It makes his head ache further, in a way he now has words for. “None of them may heal even with time, but tears may prove a suitable salve, if naught else.” 

Artorius closes his eyes, expression pained.

Is it alright, to allow further prying into his heart? He was close to Haurchefant, but he had never spoken of himself, even once. Yet here Aymeric is, making decade long and strong walls crumble with a few words. 

Experience tells him he should retreat, not get used to whatever modicum of kindness that will soon retreat at the first sign of disaster. Aymeric has already had two attempts on his life recently, until Nidhogg is finally laid to rest and Estinien returned he cannot be sure of the man’s safety. 

But  _ oh,  _ how warm Aymeric’s touch is. Gloves and gauntlets separate their bare skin from one another, but he assumes the man’s bare hands are even warmer; not soft, though, from years of training. He has the worst urge, to de-glove the other’s hands, and press them to his face. 

Until this conversation, Artorius has felt as if his heart was adrift at sea in a storm. Now Aymeric extends his kindness and he feels as though he has been granted safe harbor. Why would he throw himself back unto the waves of emotion, alone? 

As his response, he lets himself feel, all at once. 

It is an ugly thing, to allow Aymeric to witness. 

The way his eyes gloss over with tears, how his face contorts, and his shoulders shudder. How he cannot form the words to describe how he feels, and gives only strangled sobs; even in his sorry state he cannot help but be considerate of the others resting within the inn. 

It feels  _ disgusting  _ and  _ liberating  _ all at once. 

But an arm around him, a hand rubbing soothing circles in his back? It feels beautiful in comparison to the state he had been in for the past few years. So well versed was he, in bottling whatever negative emotion tighter than any vinter in Aleport. 

It leaves him hazy, and he doesn’t remember the remainder of his night.

* * *

Aymeric has half a mind to sneak the passed out form of Artorius into his own home, where his oft unused bed would be more conducive to rest.

But, ah, he has crossed far too many boundaries today. 

_ Another time, perhaps.  _

The Warrior of Light is so small, like this, carried in his arms. So soundly he sleeps, after having spent the better part of three hours sobbing until his voice and eyes were raw and red. There are many more tender words he could and would use to describe the older man’s peaceful face, but he shan’t. 

(It would be most inappropriate to call the savior of Ishgard  _ cute, adorable even,  _ no?)

The Lord Commander’s steps are careful as he finds his way into the Congregation’s infirmary, where the beds are much kinder than the slabs in the barracks. Gently, he lays Artorius on the bed, leaning his weapon against a wall; he considers getting him out of his armor, but a blush comes to his face at the thought of getting caught in the act by a passerby, or worse, by the man himself. 

Aymeric is about to pull the covers over his sleeping form, when Artorius stirs. 

“Mm…” His head turns as his eyes open in an unfamiliar room, momentary panic beginning to make way to tension in his previously relaxed form. “...where…?”

“The infirmary, my friend.” He prays he won’t get the same response as last he called him that. “I did not want to leave you at the Knight, nice as your personal suite there might be. Rest now.”

“Thank you, Aymeric…” For the first time tonight, the redhead truly smiles and he makes Aymeric’s heart flutter with how beautiful he looks as he does it. “For everything. Could I ask you one last favor?”

“Of course.”

“Help me with my gauntlet? The laces, I...I feel like I had a lot more to drink than I thought…” 

Aymeric nods and kneels, quickly unlacing and sliding it off of the man’s dominant hand. The skin of his hands are long calloused, hard from many a battle holding his weapon with practiced grace--he cannot help but admire them. The bare hand rises, to cup the side of the younger man’s face, tenderly. Their eyes meet, both men feeling their heartbeats grow faster, almost in unison. 

He forgets himself, and leans into Artorius’ touch. No thoughts enter Aymeric’s mind as his face turns to kiss the man’s palm, unable to recall the last time anyone held him so. 

They stay like that, for a handful more heartbeats, before Artorius breaks the silence between them.

“Your lips are soft, Aymeric…” Artorius  _ giggles _ , before quickly falling back to sleep as his hand drops from his companion’s face. 

Aymeric catches it, letting the touch linger. 

He closes his eyes, and sighs. 

_ How he wishes he could demonstrate, properly. _

But, alas, he shall wait until such a time that it would be appropriate. The raven haired man avails Artorius of the rest of his armor, so that he may sleep more comfortably. 

It is unwise, but Aymeric allows himself one final act of selfishness for the night, and he leans over to card his fingers through Artorius’ hair. It is soft, and shines in the low lamplight as it highlights the streaks of white throughout his otherwise maroon colored hair. He pulls the covers over the sleeping man, taking care to tuck him in. 

On the way out, he steals one last look at Artorius, before extinguishing the light.

* * *

The next day finds Artorius getting an earful from his companions, albeit none of it is anything less than concern. 

It is not lost on Alphinaud, how life has returned to his companion’s odd colored eyes; he will have to find a way to thank Aymeric for whatever it is he managed to say. Mayhap saving Ishgard from another tragedy will suffice? 

The remnants of the Scions remaining in the city all make sure to bid Aymeric a good journey prior to their own departure, all crowding into the seat of the Lord Commander; he brightens at the sight of the group, but everyone in the room is keen to notice who it is his gaze falls upon most ardently.

“I shall follow you all to Falcon’s Nest, anon.” The Lord Commander rises from his desk with a big smile. “I do hope you’ll be afforded the chance to partake of the festivities. I would be loath to find out you went out of your way to assist like a maidservant again, Artorius, when you are a guest of honor.” 

“I shall endeavor to not make myself  _ too _ available, then.” He is far more talkative than last he stood in here, Lucia notes with a raised eyebrow at Aymeric. “Pray be safe on your way there and mayhap consider wearing armor that protects your midsection this time,  _ Aymeric. _ ” 

The two laugh, and everyone finishes exchanging their pleasantries prior to leisurely walking to the airship landing.

Thancred pulls Alphinaud back a few paces, where Artorius’ keen ears will not catch their conversation. 

“ ‘Tis love most true, I think. Should they keep that up, they’ll be wed by spring.” Alphinaud eyes the older Hyur strangely. 

“Yes,  _ when spring returns to Coerthas. _ ” 

“ _ Oh no.  _ They are always like this, then?”

“Blissfully aware and unaware, I believe.” The young elezen sighs. “I am not wont to step into other people’s business, especially if Artorius no longer is so miserable...but I could only imagine how tongues would wag incessantly throughout Ishgard.”

“Our little secret, for now?”  _ Not that it seems to be much of a well kept secret,  _ Thancred notes. 

“Indeed.” They nod in unison, catching up to the others as the Warrior of Light gives them both an odd look, but does not pry. 

Let them keep their secrets, as he will his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @lievetels for more soft aymeric content


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